


A Few Seconds

by raregloves



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Could be read as pining!John or jealous!John, John POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:53:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1794448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raregloves/pseuds/raregloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has always been too curious for his own good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Few Seconds

John clattered downstairs and pulled on his jacket at the time. He was (thanks to an experiment involving slime on the ceiling) ten minutes late for work and already in a shockingly bad mood. He wasn’t relishing the challenge of pretending to be cheery for a long line of sniffing noses and long-winded complaints.

He pulled open the door and slammed with incredible force into somebody on the other side. Somebody very tall and very heavy, apparently. If there wasn’t already a hand reaching down to help him up John might’ve assumed he’d run into a wall.

‘I’m so sorry,’ the man said. ‘I was just about to ring the bell. You’re John Watson? With the blog?’

‘Yeah, I am,’ John said, letting himself be pulled up by a larger and smoother hand than his own. ‘And you’re… a client?’

He didn’t look like a client. There was none of the nervous energy most clients had. This man was tall, with a deep lilting voice and ebony skin. He was dressed similarly to Sherlock: a well-fitting suit worn with unconscious grace.

‘Not exactly, though I am here to see Sherlock. My name is Victor, by the way. Victor Trevor.’

‘It’s good to meet you,’ John said, shaking the hand offered. ‘You’re here to see Sherlock, and you said you read my blog- that does usually mean client. In my experience.' 

‘I’m sure it does,’ Victor chuckled. ‘I was at university with Sherlock, but I’ve been out of the country for years. Am I holding you up? You seemed to be in a hurry, before…’

‘Oh damn,’ John said. ‘I forgot, I’m already late for work. Have, er, fun with Sherlock. Oh! And don’t drink out of the mugs unless you wash them first. There was a… slime incident. Good to meet you.’

Victor raised a hand in farewell as John hurried down the street towards the tube station. All annoyance towards the slimed ceiling was gone. Sherlock had never mentioned Victor Trevor- but Sherlock had only mentioned his university years very briefly to him during The Blind Banker case.

John shook himself. He always did this. Sherlocks life was his own, his past wasn’t anything to do with John, his private life was clearly supposed to remain private. And yet the moment something happened that exposed a new part of Sherlock to John he would inevitably be fascinated. It was like a compulsion.

‘I need a girlfriend,’ John said to himself as he half-walked, half-jogged. ‘I need some perspective on my life.’

Sometimes his entire life seemed to consist of dealing with and being with Sherlock. It couldn’t be healthy. He tried and failed to put the incident from his mind as he hurried downstairs. The fumes of the Tube wafted up towards him. He shifted from foot to foot alongside strangers waiting alongside him. He needed perspective. He knew that.

And yet he could already feel himself planning his lunch brake. If he ordered a taxi and pretended to have left something behind in 221B then just maybe…

~

The taxi was five minutes late. Sarah had given him a curious (but slightly exasperated) look when he’d said he wouldn’t be staying over lunch but would be going back to 221B. She probably thought he was in the midst of some important case with Sherlock and he did nothing to correct her.

Victor had said he’d been overseas. Did this mean he was seeing Sherlock for the first time since their university days? If so, John couldn’t decide who might be in for a bigger shock. The impression he got of Sherlocks younger years from Mycroft (and occasionally Lestrade) was far from reassuring.

Would Victor be expecting Sherlock to be using, and solving crimes on the side? Or was he fascinated by what John had written in his blog and was meeting up with Sherlock to see how true it all was?

The taxi arrived and John climbed in, giving his address without conscious thought. His driver was (fortunately) not chatty, and John allowed himself to gaze out the window for a while. He felt more nervous than he should. More curious than he ought to be. That was Sherlocks influence on him- always bringing out extremes.

‘Can you wait?’ John asked the driver as he pulled up. ‘I might not actually be long.’

It had occurred to him that Victor might not have stayed, or that Sherlock might’ve been called on by Greg since the morning. He felt increasingly uncomfortable as he let himself in. Which was ridiculous- this was where he lived and besides, he knew Sherlock.

Even so… John walked up with deliberation, making sure to avoid every step he knew to be creaky.

The door leading into their living room was ajar and John stood on the other side, straining his ears for any sound. There was a sort of thumping nose, which could’ve been anything, knowing Sherlock.

He pushed the door open, pleased that he’d oiled the hinges recently.

All the lights were off. John had to squint as his eyes adapted to the darkness after the brightness of the street. For a few seconds he thought 221B was empty and for a moment he felt both relieved and very, very foolish. Then movement across the room caught his eye. Sherlocks bedroom door was open, and suddenly John realized where the thumping sound was coming from.

A shocked sort of hilarity rose up in Johns chest. Surely not. Surely he wasn’t about to walk in on Sherlock-

But his eyes had finally fully adjusted. Sherlocks pale skin stood out even from across the other side of the room. He was bent forwards, his knees on his mattress and his hands gripping his headboard. John could see Victors dark hands on Sherlocks hips.

Under the bang of the bed John could now hear subtler sounds- Sherlocks heaving breathing mingling with the softer sound of flesh hitting flesh. A sudden image rose up in Johns mind, unbidden but shockingly vivid. Victors wide cock dragging backwards out of Sherlocks pink hole, Sherlock panting as his body visibly stretched-

‘Fuck,’ Victor said, and John snapped back into the present moment. Victor was sliding one hand up Sherlocks spine. John felt the blood rush to his own cock. ‘You’re- fuck, Sherlock-‘

‘Harder,’ Sherlock said, his voice breaking sharply. ‘Please, I want-’

John imagined the fullness Sherlock was experiencing. He imagined, almost against his will, how it would be to breach Sherlocks body, to have his hands in Sherlocks curls.

It was too much. John exhaled and turned away. He couldn’t keep watching this. Even if it was hot, even if it answered a few lingering questions he had about Sherlock, he couldn’t watch. It would ruin him, especially if Sherlock deduced that he’d seen.

John left the door ajar, exactly as he’d found it.

He walked down the stairs silently, adjusting the front of his jeans as he went.

**Author's Note:**

> I am planning on writing more Victor/Sherlock at some point.
> 
> You can send me a prompt on my tumblr- I love rare pair fic :)
> 
> raregloves.tumblr.com


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